


Twixt Cup and Lip

by dedougal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas are hit by curses. A lot of curses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twixt Cup and Lip

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 Dean/Cas Big Bang challenge (for all it's a mini bang). Thanks to obstinatrix, oddlyfamiliar and morganoconner for cheerleading and shadowrose81 for the beta. Art by Disterra is available [here](http://p-sharkbait.livejournal.com/11760.html) and is well worth checking out as it is wonderful.

“Come, Dean,” Cas said. And Dean did.

That should have been the first sign that something was horribly, horribly wrong. They were hanging around their motel room, down time after a hunt, and Cas had… dropped by (for lack of a better word) to suggest a hunt a few states across. Nothing urgent. Nothing different from usual. He offered to zap them there, save them the drive. Something Sam said his back would appreciate. Cas had got himself all geared up, Sam was ready to get gone and Dean was still gathering weapons when Cas said the fateful words.

Dean creased in half, unexpectedly. Sam rushed to his side, anxious and worried at the groan he let slip. Cas merely regarded him.

Dean’s hand shot out, to stop Sam from coming nearer. “It’s all right, Sam.”

Sam stopped trying to touch his brother and looked in horror at the damp stain spreading over the crotch of his jeans. Dean looked down in disgust.

“That’s…”

“Nothing we’re talking about,” Dean growled as he grabbed his duffel and rummaged through it, pulling out clean underwear and pants.

Cas watched them both for a moment – Sam’s anxious hover, Dean’s muttering under his breath – before opening his mouth again. “But you have to come now, or it will be too late.”

Halfway through his heartfelt plea, Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head and he let out another low, sensual moan. He didn’t jack-knife in half this time, placing his hands on his thighs to hold tight and support his body. Dean made a revolted face and pulled his jeans away from his body.

“Nobody speak. Nobody move.” Dean turned around slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, tugging the duvet over his legs. “There has to be a reason for this.”

In the silence, Sam looked at the ceiling in thought. He looked at the door to the tiny bathroom. He looked at the rather sticky brown carpet tiles. He looked out the window. He looked everywhere other than at Cas and at Dean. Dean looked at his covered knees and Cas looked at him.

“Dean…” Sam said, voice revealing intense apprehension. Dean looked up in annoyance, holding a finger to his lips. “I have an idea.”

Dean glared. There was no other word for it. Dean glared hard at Sam. Then he nodded.

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times. Then he seemed to gather all his courage. “You seem to-“ He gestured at Dean’s duvet covered legs. “-react? Whenever Cas says to come with him. Or says the word come.” Sam looked as if the word tasted like ash in his mouth. “We should test the theory.”

“I don’t know if my balls can take that,” Dean muttered. Then he nodded.

Sam took up the role of experimenter with a decided lack of glee. “Cas. Can you say the word ‘come’ again?”

“Come.” Cas sounded bored, for all his eyes were fixed on Dean. The strangled noise of suppressed ecstasy gave away the fact that Sam’s guess was accurate. Sam sat down heavily in the chair beside the tiny table. He drummed his fingers on the table while Dean went an even brighter shade of red.

“I’m not affected – in either way. We should see if…” Sam closed his mouth with a snap.

Dean was panting a little. “See what?”

Sam took a deep breath. “See if it works both ways. You need to say-”

“Come,” Dean interrupted him. Cas let out a soft, surprised noise and stumbled to sit on the other bed. The one Dean wasn’t collapsing back on in sudden weariness.

Cas contemplated the wet patch on his pants, pressing two fingers to it and lifting them to his mouth. Dean slapped his hand over his eyes.

“Don’t do that.” The command was muffled but Cas understood and dropped his hand back down.

“I feel… drained,” Cas said. He looked at Dean, who was now burying into his pillow. “It is not a good idea to go on that hunt now.” Cas yawned. Dean let out a soft snore.

Sam rocked back in his chair, ignoring the ominous squeaking sound. “I’m calling Bobby.”

 

Curses were something those damned hex bags stuck in the bottom of their duffels were supposed to take care of. The Winchester brothers did not take kindly to people fucking with them anyway. Their reputation – and reaction the few times they’d been hit by curses – was normally enough that people stepped away slowly, not making eye contact. The “don’t mess with us” vibe was backed up by enough firepower to make even the craziest magic practitioner hesitate. And who the hell cursed an angel?

Sam and Bobby’s phone conversation was punctuated by snores. Sam knew Dean’s snoring – it was probably the most familiar noise in the world to him, other than the Impala’s engine purr – but Cas’ soft whuffles were a new and interesting addition. Of course the conversation came around to two unavoidable truths: the curse was aimed at Dean and Cas. And they needed to do more research.

 

When Dean and Cas woke within moments of each other, it took Sam a moment to work out what had changed. Dean naturally uttered “come” the moment he saw Cas but nothing happened. Instead, slowly, like a time-lapse rose blooming video, an enormous boil formed on the tip of his nose. It was a lurid red colour. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Dean went cross eyed. “Why is there something on the end of my nose?”

Castiel was less hesitant. He scooted across the bed and touched the tip of his index finger to the pustule. It made a slight squishing noise in the too silent room. “It is a boil.”

“I know it’s a boil,” Dean snapped back. “Why the fuck is it there?”

“You’re under a curse,” Sam said, quickly turning back to the pile of books on the table beside them. “Another curse.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Then winced, as another boil developed high up on his cheek under his eye. Sam watched in fascination as it wobbled, filled with some viscous white liquid. It was one of the grossest things he’d seen. Or at least, it was until Castiel shot off the bed and pulled down his pants to reveal the cluster of boils at groove of his hip. Sam slapped his hand over his mouth, urging the bile to stay down.

Then Castiel started to scratch. Dean was the one who leapt across to stop him, grabbing his hands and holding them tight on either side of his body. “Don’t scratch. It’ll only make it worse.”

Another cluster of boils spread up over the back of Dean’s neck as Sam watched. It was so disgusting that Sam felt his stomach start to rebel all over again. He’d handled brains, cut people’s livers open, seen what a werewolf, a vampire, a serial killer could do to a body. But boils developing, pustulent and gleaming, all over his brother’s skin was one step too far. Boils forming on top of boils as he watched. Sam grabbed his notes and books from the table.

“Stay here. Just-“ Sam scrambled towards the door, righting the chair as he knocked it. He grabbed the keys to the Impala, juggling the papers when he also picked up his coat. “I’ll be back. Research.”

Dean eased himself down into Cas’ lap, to aid his attempts to stop Cas scratching. He looked at Sam, face now near covered with lumps and bumps. Sam would not have recognised his own brother if had not been for the panicked green eyes that begged him, “Hurry.”

 

This was the pits, Dean thought. His skin felt like it was peeling off his body. It was the oddest sensation – not pain, exactly. More like an enormous itch. He knew that scratching was bad. Sam with chicken pox had taught him that. So he held on tight to Castiel while he writhed beneath him. It was either that or try to peel all the skin off his body in thin strips. Sam, the fucking coward, had fled.

Dean lay down on the bed, drawing Cas with him. It was more comfortable. Or at least it felt like it was, the sheets soothing against the persistent burn. Dean rolled against Cas, easing his pain. Cas seemed eager to return the favour, gasping against Dean’s skin, breathing air into each other’s mouths. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dean could barely open his eyes for the boils covering his eyelids, it might have been close to some of the dreams he quite liked recalling in the shower.

Cas let out a groan, the type of groan Dean imagined he’d make if Dean ever got up the courage to go down on him. The type of moan that was filthy and satisfied and so damn good to hear. Then Dean jerked back. Castiel should not be making that kind of noise _without_ there being serious cock in mouth action. Instead Cas was humping against Dean to scratch at the itch from his own set of boils.

Dean let his eyes close again. It was too gross to think about any more. Instead, he let Cas come close and move against his body. Then the movements became slower, softer. It wasn’t that the itch was lessening. More that moving to rub and ease the incessant pressure became harder and harder. Dean fell asleep between one languorous writhe and another.

 

Castiel was still beside him when Dean woke up. “This is not normality, oh Dean.” Cas’ voice was low, rough and mildly anxious.

Dean nodded. First the whole coming thing and then the boils. He felt his face, glad to feel his skin back to normal. Yet, despite the fact he had slept for another two hour nap, he still felt exhausted. Cas even looked a little worn around the edges. “The extreme, enrapturing tiredness?”

Castiel was lying so his eyes were at the same level as Dean’s. Indeed, Dean found himself captivated by Cas’ eyes. His blue, blue eyes. It was like staring into the depths of the summer sky. Sometimes Cas’ eyes turned grey, steel grey, like the storm clouds rolling in. Dean sat up, abruptly.

“Forsooth, Castiel. I fear that our travails doth continue onwards.” Dean slapped his hand over his mouth. The flowery language seemed to be as familiar to him as the lyrics to ACDC. It seemed as natural as the way he slaved over the Impala, teasing every inch of performance out of her powerful, panther… Even his brain seemed to be in on the verge of falling into the abyss of thesaurus-ridden nightmare.

“I’m a poet and I know it,” Castiel intoned. He let out a noise Dean supposed might be a laugh. The whole situation was ridiculous. Dean let slip a noise that he’d forever deny making, a noise more akin to a giggle than anything else. Then he laughed.

Dean laughed so loudly he slipped off the bed and lay on the floor, clutching his stomach as the tears ran down his cheeks. When he ran out of steam, he lay there, panting softly, while Cas peered over the edge of the bed at him. Long, elegant fingers brushed the moisture from his cheeks, gently, warm and tender.

“Art thou not a vision?” Dean said.

Castiel let his hand falter and cease. Then he sat up and shook his head, like a dog shaking his head after swimming in the river. “The way the strength is drained from my bones. I know what it is. I know its power and its purpose...” Castiel stumbled to the table where his cell lay beside Dean’s. “I must summon Sam to return forthwith.”

Dean scratched at his belly. He was still wearing his jeans – something he guessed he should be grateful for after the boils – but they were beginning to chafe. While Cas waited impatiently for Sam to answer, Dean stripped out of his jeans and his over-shirt. He pulled at his boxers too, frowning at the encrustation. He kept a tight grip on his thoughts, so as not to let them frolic like lambs in the spring fields.

So much for that plan.

Dean padded to the bathroom, suddenly aware of the fact he was almost naked in the room. At least this curse didn’t really cause him pain as much as embarrassment. Deep, abiding shame. There was nothing worse, nay nothing, than sounding like a cod-Shakespearian actor. Dean shrugged. “Castiel, doth thou desire to remove the stains from thy skin? The pressure of the shower is most pleasing.” Apparently the curse couldn’t cope with modern terms too well.

It all felt a bit amateur.

Cas waved at him, greeting Sam as he apparently finally received the call. Dean shut the door behind him. It would be fortuitous should his beloved brother not hear the manner of his speech.

 

“Sam. There is a problem.” Castiel was more adept than Dean at keeping the curse at bay. At least, keeping this curse at bay. Physical curses seemed to hit him harder, a consequence of keeping to this body.

Sam’s tiny voice replied, “I got that.” Sam was definitely annoyed.

“The curse – curses – are designed to siphon energy, to use up all the strength in our sinews.” Castiel closed his mouth abruptly. He heard Sam moving on the other end of the call, shuffling paper.

“That… That helps.” Sam sounded grudgingly grateful for the information. “It’s probably still witches, right?”

“I would presume that to be accurate. The petty nature of the inflictions we have suffered suggest that origin. But this… this exhaustion. There is something more than meets the eye.” Castiel carefully rolled his shoulders. He heard the shower switch off. He could feel the tiredness creeping up on him again. “This curse is coming to an end. The sleep is almost upon us both.”

“What is the curse? I need to keep track. It might help us locate the problem…” Sam’s voice cut off as Dean came out of the bathroom and hollered, “’Tis a pity thou are not some eager wench for the ploughing.”

Sam coughed. Once. “Language curse?”

“For true,” Castiel answered. He ended the call and turned to Dean, who was clad only in a thin damp towel, which clung to the muscular, statuesque thighs that Castiel knew he only had to lay his hands on to feel the warmth and strength and power of. He could imagine them wrapped around his body as he pressed Dean into the wall, hitched them around his waist and drove into his body.

Dean let out an enormous yawn. He stumbled to the nearest bed, shoving at the blankets. The towel dropped and Castiel was left with an image of Dean’s toned and shapely buttocks before he pulled the sheets over him and fell asleep. Castiel stuck to the other bed this time.

 

The world was black when Castiel awoke. He panicked for a moment, borrowed (or was it borrowed anymore? Jimmy no longer shared this body with him) heart racing. Then the black curtain over his eyes shifted and light peeked through. Cas brought his hands up and realised that the black shifting mass in front of his face was hair. His hair. Attached to his head. It fell in sheets to the floor and pooled at his feet. Dean, on his bed, seemed to be having difficulty sitting up. He kept trapping strands of the long brown hair under his hands, his body. Finally he rolled off the bed and stood up. His hair was as long as Castiel’s. At least it hid his nudity.

“What are we going to do? Braid it?” Dean looked and sounded disgusted. He attempted to gather the shifting, floating strands in a fist and shove them out of his eyes. The hair resisted any of his attempts, falling down heavy and straight. “How does Sam cope?”

Castiel shifted forward and pushed the heavy mass over Dean’s shoulder, revealing his smooth skin. It would probably be best for Dean to put some clothes on soon. It settled back, freeing his eyes. “Maybe we should. It would stop it becoming tangled.”

Dean helped Cas move the weight of his suddenly long hair behind his shoulders too. The idea of trying to actually wrangle it into some kind of division was pretty insurmountable. Instead they ended up sitting at the foot of the bed with their hair piled on top, Dean wearing boxers he’d struggled into while Cas held his hair back. Dean stared mournfully at the bottles of beer and the bag of chips on the table in front of them.

“We need Sam back so he can fetch for us,” he muttered. Then Dean let out a huge sigh. “So, what’s causing this?”

“It’s a curse. A series of curses.”

“I get that,” Dean said, channelling Bobby’s hatred of people stating the obvious. Castiel could hear an unspoken idjit in the air.

“Probably cast by a witch. More likely a series of witches. Co-ordinated witches.” Castiel went back to mulling over the idea.

Dean slumped back against the bed and eyed the beer again. There was nothing he could do, not really. Instead he let out a yawn again. “I can’t believe I keep falling asleep. Is that a curse too?”

“Not really. It’s a spell.” Castiel tried to ignore how warm Dean’s skin felt through the thin material of his shirt. “It takes energy from us.”

“Why?” Dean was shifting into a more comfortable position. It wasn’t that he was cuddling Castiel. More using him as a leaning post. Cas helped when he moved his arm to support Dean’s back.

“That would be the question,” Castiel replied, letting Dean settle beside him. He let his own head fall backwards onto the bed and closed his eyes yet again.

 

When he returned to the room, bags of take-out dangling from his hands, Sam looked suspiciously at the two crumpled piles of clothing on the floor. Castiel and Dean were nowhere to be seen. He poked one carefully with his foot. Who knew what the curses would do next? He hoped there weren’t snakes. He could handle just about anything other than snakes.

The clothing that belonged to Cas stirred. A small pink nose peeked out of the sleeve of his trench coat, twitching and tasting the air. A tiny black rabbit, an honest-to-god bunny, hopped out of the coat. Sam looked at it for a moment. It looked at him with blue eyes that were all too familiar. A stirring in Dean’s clothes warned him of another minuscule rabbit. This one was a golden brown, with eyes that could only be described as mossy green. Dean’s shade of green. Sam ran his hand over his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. Nope. Didn’t work. They were still there.

The rabbit Sam was sure was Dean hopped over to the rabbit Sam just knew had to be Cas. They gazed into each other’s eyes, nose to nose. Part of Sam wanted to lean down and pick them up – they were (and he hated himself for thinking this) adorably cute – but he couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if Dean and Cas suddenly decided to revert to their own bodies. Instead Sam watched in horrified fascination as the two rabbits rubbed their noses together and then hopped together into the shelter of Cas’ coat and lay down beside each other.

Sam had work to do anyway. He carefully sat the take-out on the table and pulled out the duffel from under the bed. In amongst the weaponry, there were a few last spell ingredients. He had a summoning to do. A summoning that he thought had very little chance of working. Sam rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans and started assembling the ritual. Every so often, the coat would move as the tiny bunnies hopped to and fro. Sam thought about checking on them, but thought it was probably better not to know.

Sam never thought of himself as someone who needed to know everything. The way he and Dean lived in each other’s pockets meant that he knew what Dean was up to even if he didn’t actual have all the details. Dean was pretty easy. Food, sex and the Impala. And alcohol, more recently. Sam had put his weird behaviour down to the fact they’d spent a year apart, even if his memories of it were hazy.

But the way Dean acted with Cas, especially after the whole “I’m your new god” and the subsequent defusing thing, was different. New. Dean was oddly hesitant around Castiel these days. Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. In some ways, it brought back Balthazar’s off-hand comment of “the angel whose in love with you” to mind. Sam actually found himself quite relaxed about the idea that his brother might be fucking his angel.

That made Sam pause and wish his imagination wasn’t quite so vivid. The trench coat rustled behind him again.

Sam tossed a lit match into the pile of powder and recited the Enochian incantation. He was getting better at the old Enochian these days. Practise with Cas, he supposed. The ritual ended and Sam waited expectantly. He wasn’t sure who – or what – might show up. If it worked.

Sam let out the breath he’d been holding after a moment and turned around. He nearly fell over a familiar looking figure. A familiar face who had been one of the innumerable casualties that resulted from him being stupid enough to let Lucifer out.

“Gabriel.” Sam was torn between suspicion and disbelief and sheer hope.

“Got any candy?”

 

Gabriel insisted on seeing “tiny bunny Dean and Cas” as he continued to call them. He’d lifted them out of the trenchcoat and stuck them on the table. Sam had worried at that. The rabbits were less than happy too, the Dean one fixing Gabriel with a stare that was definitely unfriendly. It didn’t stop Gabriel from poking at one with a long finger. Bunny Dean fixed his blunt teeth around the digit.

“Why are…? I mean, you were dead.” Sam had prodded Gabriel with his own hand, to check the solidity of the figure in front of him. There had also been the silver test and the holy water test and Sam was still not entirely convinced.

“Castiel’s little purgatory adventure shook a few things loose. One of them being me.” Gabriel disengaged his hand and wiped it on his jacket. Then he caught sight of the horror on Sam’s face. “Not Lucifer. You’re safe, Sam.”

Sam was shocked by the sincerity in his voice. Time to get back to business. “I thought it might be a Trickster. That’s why I did the ritual.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Nope. Not me or anyone trying to copy me. These are pretty straight curses. Not fatal on their own.” Gabriel grinned, wolfishly. “And I like the odd fatality.”

The Castiel bunny wriggled around on the table top and the Dean rabbit hopped across to join it. Then the Dean rabbit – Sam couldn’t think of it as _Dean_ after all – opened its mouth wide in a yawn. It was so cute. Adorable. Sam shook that off. “The tiredness?”

“Yeah, that’s going to kill them.” Gabriel was rummaging in the pockets of his coat and pulled out a crushed candy bar. He shrugged and unwrapped it, unconcerned at the shrivelled appearance of the chocolate as he stuffed it into his mouth. “Eventually. Energy drain from the spells.”

Sam nodded. He’d need to move the rabbits to the floor, or to the bed, before they transformed into actual Dean and Castiel again. Otherwise the table would be flattened. The rabbits started to drift off and he finally gave in to the temptation to lift them up. They were heavier than they looked – not that they weighed much – and both of them fit into the palm of one of his hands. He gently lowered them onto the blankets. Then he thought about it. He lifted the blanket over them just in case. There really was only so much of his brother’s junk he needed to see. And he really did not want to be thinking about Castiel’s either.

Gabriel was raking through the bag of take out when Sam turned back around. “First, decent food. Then I’ll do the rounds.” Gabriel waved his hands in the air. “See if I can find out more.”

“Bobby’s got his sources working on it too,” Sam told him. “And I guess I can back track.”

Gabriel smirked. “And find out who Dean managed to piss off.” Then Gabriel looked a little confused. “I don’t understand why Cas is all wrapped up in this too.”

“Why?” Sam felt stupid stating the obvious. But sometimes he felt that his only job was to ask the stupid questions.

“The curse is aimed at Dean alone.”

They both turned to watch the lump underneath the blanket. When Sam looked back, Gabriel was gone.

 

Sam suffered through the next couple of curses – the time intervals were becoming shorter, he felt – on his own. Really long toenails and fingernails was ignorable, but the way Dean and Cas became attached where they’d fallen asleep together again was more problematic. Sam stayed well out of the way when Dean decided he needed the bathroom, suddenly.

Castiel went along – he was attached, sure enough, but he also seemed to be smaller, weaker, less able to tell Dean in his plain, blunt way, to stop. The arrogant creature who had ordered them to bow to him was gone completely, and Sam found that despite the whole never ending series of curses that there was some good to come of this whole situation.

The next curse sent him to the sanctuary of the Impala.

Sam was a grown man. He had memories of the things he had done as RoboSam, the soulless creature he had been and forgotten and remembered. But nothing – nothing on earth or heaven or hell – had prepared him for the sight of his brother, lip locked and grinding against an equally eager Castiel.

They didn’t notice him leave the room. Which was good. Because it looked like the kind of curse where they invited all comers. And that…

So Sam sat in the car, read his book by the dashboard light and checked his phone every minute in vain hope someone would call soon. Anyone? Someone?

 

Dean was not eager to leave. He knew – didn’t he just know – that what he was doing with Cas was wrong. It was wrong and bad and it was even worse that it was under the influence of this fucking curse. It didn’t stop him sliding his hand along Castiel’s back, dipping into his boxers, cupping the globe of his ass. It didn’t stop him moaning into Cas’ mouth when Cas mirrored the action, head tilting to swallow Dean’s cries.

When their cocks brushed, Dean knew exactly what was going to happen. He wormed his free hand between their tightly pressed bodies, wrapping it firmly around their dicks and tugging. Cas let loose a deep growl, biting at Dean’s mouth, making movement difficult when he pushed his hips even closer. Dean stroked, warm, wet and soft, and knew he wasn’t going to last long. It might be less than twenty four hours since Cas had made him come three times the space of ten minutes, but Dean felt he would burn if he didn’t come soon. Cas seemed equally eager to reach fulfilment, not doing much now other than pull Dean as close as he could and kiss and stroke and thrust.

Dean came with a shout. He presumed Cas had also came, because his hand was covered in too much slick for it just to be him. But after he came down from the high, he realised his cock was as hard as it had been when it started. Castiel’s too. This must be the curse. It had to be. His stamina just wasn’t quite as it had once been. The burning pressure under his skin, that sheer need to come started building again. Dean was panting heavily, already wrung out from the power of the last orgasm. Cas didn’t seem quite so tired, despite the sweat pooling at the base of his neck, making his pale skin glow. His mouth was red, lips puffy from the way Dean had mauled him with his mouth. He couldn’t resist dipping forward to taste Cas again. That led to another round of deep, penetrating fierce kisses. Dean let Cas roll him onto his back, pushing him backwards to make a space for himself between Dean’s eagerly splayed thighs.

This angle let Cas thrust against him harder and stronger, hips undulating faster. Dean liked this. He liked the feeling of Cas above him, pushing into him. He wondered – oh god, he wondered – what it would feel like to fully open himself up, let Cas inside him. Not something he’d done in a very, very long time. Castiel seemed happy for now, hands gripping tight to Dean’s shoulders as he built up a rhythm, rutting his naked body, all sharp hip bones and smooth skin, against Dean. Dean arched into the feeling. He could feel his orgasm getting closer, higher, tighter. His skin seemed too small for his body. He gasped into Cas’ mouth, once, twice, sharing air.

Then he woke up cold. Turned out Cas’ naked body was not much of a heat source in a drafty motel room. Then the memory of what they’d been doing together in the bed, naked, hit him. Cas was still asleep against him, cock soft now but still sticky. The come hadn’t dried completely. The curses were knocking them out sooner.

Castiel stirred and Dean slid out of the bed. He needed to shower again, urgently. And find out what the curse was this time. It was on his feet when he realised what affliction he’d been struck with now.

He wasn’t just standing on two legs. He was also using a new appendage to support himself. A tail.

Now he thought about it, the tail lifted off the ground. It curved in the air behind him. It was – he hated to admit it – a bit like a rat’s tail, pink, banded flesh, warm and whip-like. His mind seemed to know what to do with it, curling around his leg. When Castiel shifted over onto his stomach, Dean saw his tail, sprouting from the base of his spine, lax on the bed behind him.

Dean still felt sticky. A shower would help. And it would warm him - his feet felt like blocks of ice. The water felt nice over his skin. His tail seemed to like it too, rising above his head directly into the stream. Dean’s mind seemed to cope with the additional stimulation, the small pleasure, just like he had always had a tail.

It felt right. Just like fucking Castiel had felt right. The problem was that while the curse might be entirely responsible for his tail, it wasn’t entirely responsible for his reaction to Castiel. Dean desperately tried to repress the memories that kept replaying in his mind. It was the noises that made him remember that it had been real, rather than some of his (more common) fantasies. Castiel had always been silent in those as he moved his mouth around Dean, sucked Dean down, fucked into Dean. The real Castiel had been far from silent, moans and gasps falling from his lips in shock.

Dean’s new tail apparently had another use, wrapping around his body to rub up and down his interested cock while his hands were planting firmly on the beige tiled wall. It was a different sensation, hard to describe. Not unwelcome but not as pleasant as his own familiar palm, or, now he thought about it, Cas’ fist.

The bathroom door was thrust open and Dean jerked back, opening the curtain to see Sam looming in the doorway.

“Don’t get any ideas. I need to piss and I’m not doing that in the parking lot in broad daylight.” Sam looked uncomfortable as he gestured to Dean to close the curtain. Dean let his tail carry out the action. Sam didn’t comment on it and Dean stuck his head into the water to give his brother the illusion of privacy. Luckily the interruption had dealt with Dean’s erection and he was able to shut off the water and clamber out without embarrassing himself.

Castiel was fully dressed when he came out of the bathroom, tail rising from the split in the back of his trench coat. Sam had brought in coffee and Castiel had a cardboard cup in his hand but wasn’t drinking from it. He was watching the steam rise from the opening in the lid. There were dark rings under his eyes and Dean wondered if he looked similarly exhausted.

“I thought Gabriel was here,” Castiel said. “Which is not possible.”

Sam scrubbed his hands through his hair and sat down at the tiny table. “Yeah. I… I summoned a trickster to see if it was causing the curses. Gabriel showed up.”

Castiel stood frozen in the middle of the room. When he stilled like that, Dean was reminded that, diminished or not, Castiel was still an angel at heart. There was no breathing, no fidgeting, no minute ticks. Instead he was utterly and completely still.

“Gabriel showed up?” There was a note of hope and wonderment in Cas’ voice when he repeated Sam’s words.

Sam shrugged. “It was when you were bunnies.” He couldn’t let the opportunity slide. “Really cute bunnies that just wanted to snuggle with each other.”

Dean flipped him the bird while Castiel ignored him. Sam sipped at his coffee. Dean seemed more in control of his faculties during this curse at least. “He said the curse was aimed at you but Cas seemed caught in the crossfire.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to Cas who was still standing, unmoving, in the middle of the floor. He looked guilty for a moment. Dean took a couple of breaths, opening his mouth like a goldfish before finally blurting out his guess. “I might have been pretending Cas was my boyfriend.”

“What?” Sam had to hear this story.

“There was this bar, and this pushy girl, and she wasn’t being let down easy so I mentioned that I was waiting for my boyfriend and kinda pointed at Cas.” Dean spoke so quickly and lowly that Sam had to lean closer to hear him.

“And?” Sam prompted when Dean seemed to stop.

“I might have groped him a little,” Dean admitted. Castiel was staring at his tail. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the conversation. “Patted his ass.”

“I thought you were straightening my coat.”

Sam was glad when his phone rang. There really was sharing and over-sharing going on here. A wild fondness for his brother and his cluelessness was threatening to spill into a smile that would completely destroy the grim disapproval Sam was trying to affect.

Bobby was on the other end. “I got a fix on a demon that seems to be using a coven of witches for its own ends. Sounds like our culprit. Couple of towns over from where you are.”

Sam had already grabbed the keys to the Impala. He turned to look at Dean and Cas, whose tails seemed to be trying to knot together. Could they be any more obvious? “I’m going to go hunt this demon down and end the curse. You two…” He fended off the appeal from two sets of pleading eyes. “You stay here. Keep me up to date.”

Dean’s protest was interrupted by an enormous yawn. Castiel’s own jaw breaking yawn followed moments later. Sam nodded as they made their ways to separate beds again. Their tails stretched across the gap and entwined as they slipped into sleep again.

Sam made sure he had the knife before closing the door on the slumbering pair.

 

It wasn’t like he wasn’t accustomed to driving the car. He did his fair share of the driving on the long haul treks across states that were more dirt and tree than anything else. But it still felt strange to be sitting in the car on his own, radio tuned to a local talk station. The lack of a warm body on the bench next time felt like a gaping wound, like he had lost an arm.

He still jumped when Gabriel popped into existence, looking like he’d been sitting there all along. The car swerved for a moment, fishtailing, before Sam got it under control again. He should be used to angels dropping in at a moment’s notice. He should be used to things appearing where there had been nothing. Not happening.

“Hey there, sweetcheeks,” Gabriel said, around a mouthful of something that smelled of strawberries and tooth rot. “See you have a direction to be pointing that mighty weapon of yours.”

Sam concentrated on the road. “Bobby had a lead.”

“Just as well. You do _not_ want to know what is going on in that old motel room right now.” Gabriel settled into place, stretching his arm along the back of the seat. When Sam did that, he could almost reach to the other side of Dean’s shoulders. Gabriel’s arm barely brushed the tip of his.

Sam’s imagination was running away with him. “What’s the curse this time?”

“Women.” Gabriel sounded gleeful. “Dean has got himself a pair of tits. And they’re more than a handful if you catch my drift.” Gabriel smacked his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “Poor Castiel is not quite so well endowed.”

“He’s skinnier,” Sam observed absently. He was too busy trying to imagine his brother as a girl. It was disturbing, sure, but it was also worthy of blackmail. Every time Dean tried to call him girly and feminine in future, he had the perfect come back.

Gabriel sniggered a little. “I’m sure you’d know. He has been spending a lot of time with you lately.”

“He’s been spending a lot of time with Dean,” Sam corrected. Then he thought about it. “They really are oblivious idiots.”

Gabriel didn’t dignify that with an answer. The radio filled the silence – the not entirely uncomfortable silence – that fell between them. They passed a mile marker. The town Bobby had suggested the demon and his coven of eager willing witches might be in was another twenty miles away.

Gabriel rustled a bag of candy out of his pocket. “So….” He drew the word out. “Your brother and my brother seem to be getting along…”

Sam didn’t like where this was going. “I’m straight.”

Gabriel let out a soft hmmm. He settled back into the seat but left his arm where it was, dipping his other hand into the bag of candies. “The soulless you wasn’t quite so…”

“Discriminating,” Sam said bluntly. He hadn’t enjoyed getting those memories back. He shrugged. Maybe there was something to his alter ego’s behaviour but he certainly wasn’t going to get into this with the newly reborn angel who had spent millennia succeeding in giving deserving people their comeuppance.

Gabriel smirked but he left the topic of conversation behind. “Do you want to know what curse they’ve moved on to now? I got to say I admire these witches’ imagination.”

 

Being a woman hadn’t been too bad. He’d developed – he wasn’t afraid to admit it – an awesome rack. It jiggled and everything under his t-shirt. Hanging about topless didn’t seem like a big deal when you had a tail or were determined to fuck your possibly best friend, but as a girl it felt strange with those tits just hanging there, ready for groping. No, Dean hadn’t minded being female that much. Just proved he was hot whatever gender he was. Castiel had been pretty damn hot as a chick too, to be fair. Big blue eyes, milky skin and this tight ass. Not that his ass wasn’t tight normally.

This was not normally.

Dean was not quite sure how he was supposed to do anything when he woke up flat. In 2D. He (and Cas) had turned into cartoon versions of themselves. He looked pretty normal, if you discounted the slightly bigger head and round face, legs a little shorter than normal. And more exaggeratedly bowlegged. Cas was in a similar state, but minus the bowleggedness. Instead he had two tiny black wings rising from his shoulder blades. They were cute cartoons. Dean wanted a drink.

His cell rang and Dean tried to slip his fingers under it to lift it up. Castiel came up behind him and pressed the answer button and then put it on speaker. It was Sam.

“I caught up with one of the witches. She used up the last of her power before she died. I managed to get the location of the demon out of her though. I’m going to try that first. I might have to track down a few more of the witches after. Gabriel thinks the energy drain will stop with the demon but not the curses.” Dean could hear Sam’s shrug over the phone.

“Just hurry, Sam.” Even Dean’s voice sounded different, flatter and squeakier. Cartoony. He flushed a little in embarrassment and was unsurprised to see little red lines appear in the air to either side of his face. Castiel looked at him curiously. A little flat cartoon heart floated out from Castiel’s chest to sit in the air between them. Dean knew he was blushing more intensely as the lines seemed to broaden. A matching heart floated out of his chest and merged with the one from Castiel.

Sam hung up and silence descended on the room once more. The heart hung there, throbbing slightly.

A sudden knock at the door and a call of “housekeeping” made the heart pop out of existence. Dean looked down at himself, at the door and back at Castiel. “We need to hide.”

Castiel nodded, as the door started to open. He pointed at the bed and Dean dropped to the floor and wriggled his flat body up and down to slide into the narrow gap between bed and floor. It turned out to be a perfect hiding place. There was no way anyone would even think to look here. Dean was congratulating himself on his cleverness when Castiel slid on top of him.

Dean glared at Cas, looking straight into his big blue eyes. The ones being turned into a cartoon seemed to make even larger. It felt odd to not be able to smell that ozone, sweat and sweet smell that Dean had come to associate with Cas. It felt odd to not smell anything, to be honest. Then Dean hit his head back on the floor. It didn’t make any noise. Cas wriggled on top of him, not that Dean could have any reaction to that.

“Why didn’t we just say we were busy?” Dean breathed into the approximate area of Cas’ ear.

Cas smiled down at him. His eyes seemed to swirl slightly, sparkle in the gloom under the bed. Dean couldn’t look away from the pattern they made, despite the fact he was essentially rubbing noses with Cas. If they had had noses. Not little triangular shaped squiggles in the middle of their faces.

The maid was damn efficient. Either efficient or half-assed. Fresh towels were taken into the bathroom, the beds were made (mattress wobbling dangerously above them) and a vacuum run around the carpet. The woman hummed off-key under her breath as she worked. When the door closed behind her, Dean shot out from under the bed and stood up as quickly as he could.

Cas followed more slowly. He let out a yawn, head stretching back impossibly wide. Then he looked seriously at Dean. “This is impeding our lives now.”

The heart formed in mid-air again. This time it had a little arrow through it and a couple of white doves supporting a ribbon. On which was written “D + C”. Dean waved his hand at it, got a painless peck from one of the doves before it vanished into nothingness.

Cas let out an impatient sound and crossed the space between them. He pressed his flat cut-out to Dean, then let out a frustrated huff. “I can’t feel you. Or kiss you. Or… anything.” An adorable pink circle appeared on both of Cas’ cheeks.

“Sam said he’s close to a solution,” Dean told him. He caught a sense of Cas’ urgency. “He’ll pull through.”

Cas looked doubtful, but his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled (literally) to the floor, fast asleep. Dean followed him down a moment later, the exhaustion and energy loss taking him too suddenly to move to the bed.

 

The demon was, Sam hated to admit it, hot. Literally hot, yeah, skin sizzling under his hand when he grabbed it and stabbed the knife up and into its chest. The demon had forced him up against the wall, splayed his arms and legs and enjoyed strangling him (as ever) with her own hand. Gabriel got into the spirit of the thing, distracting her (it) with a lamp across the back of the head.

After the glowing and seizing had stopped, Sam cleaned the knife off on the denim skirt the demon sported before tucking it into his pocket again.

“Why didn’t you just –?“ Sam made a sizzling, hissing noise.

Gabriel looked at him, momentarily at a loss. “I didn’t really think about being all angel-y again. Getting used to being my old self, I guess.”

Sam shook his head as he fished the cell phone out of his pocket. There was no reply. He tried again. “Guess the sleeping beauties are still finding it hard to wake up.”

“They should be fine. Unless the spell is still running.” Gabriel poked at the empty shell of the demon with one toe. It was definitely dead.

Sam cast his eyes around the room – nothing here, nothing obvious. “Basement?”

Gabriel shrugged. He popped out of existence and then back. His cheery ambivalence was gone. He was as deadly serious as when his real identity had been revealed. “You need to see the basement, Sam.”

The door was locked, but a foot through it soon burst it open. Sam hurried down the narrow wooden steps, ignoring the drop to each side. There was a dull, fitful light creeping under an old interior door, paint blistering and peeling. Sam didn’t want to touch the door – it looked diseased and spoiled. Greasy. He kicked at it with his boot and it shattered. Beyond, the typical ingredients of a spell lay: mystic runes etched into the floor, flickering black candles smoking grudgingly. A bowl with a smear of liquid. Then there were photographs. Not the usual couple, or even ten. There were hundreds of photographs all around the room. Not just of women, although there was definitely a female bias, and not of any particular age, race or appearance. The only unifying fact was the thin thread that linked the picture to the bowl in the middle of the room.

“They are all setting curses,” Gabriel said, reappearing. “All of them. And the demon was setting them on Dean and Castiel.”

Sam slowly spun around, taking in the vast number of threads again. “They’re all setting curses.”

“None of which are working, admittedly. They’re all being redirected.” Gabriel knelt down to examine the network of thread. “The spell is still going.”

“Dean!” Sam urgently called the motel room again. There was still no response. Gabriel met his worried stare, flickered in and out of existence in between breaths.

“They’re both normal – at the moment – and fast asleep. Their energy, souls, whatever… It’s fading fast.”

Sam pulled the knife back out and grabbed at a handful of threads.

“But if you do that, the curses are going to hit their original intendeds. Every thread you cut will mean the curse rebounds. Dean and Cas are going to cause misery for hundreds of people.” Gabriel sounded a little like he cared. “We have to break the spell.”

 

Dean was still groggy when he woke up. A least he wasn’t flat anymore. His flailing hand caught Cas’ shoulder and he held on for reassurance as he blinked his eyes open. The room suddenly looked a whole lot bigger.

No, he wasn’t a tiny bunny again. This time he was just tiny. Cas was no bigger than him and they were both the size of GI Joes. Although, being as they weren’t actually GI Joes, Dean was feeling mildly positive. And he could feel things again. Like thirst and hunger. His belly gave out a soft sound. The room loomed above him. All the food was up on that table – the half empty bag of chips, the doughnuts Sam had left them before heading off to try and stop this from happening.

Dean was reminded that his cell phone was also up there, when it began to ring and ring. Castiel woke at that, staring blankly at the underside of the table, with the lumps of greying gum stuck to it. His hands clasped over Dean’s on his shoulder and he gripped tight.

“The phone is ringing, Dean. It will be Sam.” Cas sounded urgent, a little panicked.

“We have a small problem,” Dean started. Then he huffed out a laugh. Cas was looking around the room, boggled at the way everything towered above them. It must be a bit of a turnaround for someone who had once claimed to be as tall as the Chrysler Building.

Cas’ hand tightened around Dean’s. It was as if Cas didn’t want to let go of him all of a sudden. Worried he might lose him in the vast plain of the carpet or something. Dean made a mental note to not go exploring in the rug covering the threadbare path between bathroom and bed. Then he realised what Cas’ hand on his meant.

“Hey! We can touch again. And feel. This is much better than being flat.” Dean brought his other hand out to touch Cas’ opposite shoulder. He was now kneeling between Cas’ spread legs, raised up above his face. Cas’ arm stretched out and landed on Dean’s hip as if to test the reality of the situation. Cas was warm under his hand and there was a new clarity in his eyes. They had promised to stop hiding things from each other, stop lying by omission. But it was hard to break the habits of a lifetime, Dean guessed. Or a few millennia, give or take.

Castiel’s hand flexed against his side, shifting to hold on tight. Dean knew just what he had to do. He leaned forward, letting his mouth fit softly against Cas’ lips. He’d kissed him before, he knew, due to the damn curse, but this felt different. It felt like a first kiss. They weren’t under the influence of anything – not really – and he was choosing to take a chance on something that he’d been thinking about for longer than he was really comfortable admitting.

Cas’ lips were warm, soft, moist. Dean knew he should know this, but for some reason kissing Castiel, swallowing the pants of breath, feeling rough stubble against his skin, was suddenly made more real. No pretence between them, no need for any curses.

Lost in Castiel, Dean was brought back to reality by the rough tinny ring of his phone again.

“I guess we should try and answer that,” Dean said, shocked to hear his own voice. It had been an intense silence between them and Dean didn’t want to risk causing Cas to suddenly realise what they were doing and stop. Worse, stop and regret it.

 

Dean was whispering, mouth soft and open. Castiel could feel the rush of blood in his body, the subtle tremors that said need and want and everything Castiel had been keeping buried. He was surprised at his own reaction, the need to open his mouth and swallow Dean whole. To keep him here and now with kisses that never ended. Castiel paid no attention to what Dean was saying, reaching up again to place his mouth firmly against Dean’s lips, his cheek, his throat. Dean threw his head back at that, letting out a moan that Castiel felt from the crown of his head to the very tips of his toes.

It was better than he remembered under the curse. There was an urgency, sure enough, but it was born out of desire and care and, dare he say it, love. He knew he loved Dean. He loved him in a way that was different from the other types of love and worship he had felt in the past. He loved him even when Dean drove him beyond the point of irritation. There was a part of him that always wondered what Dean would think, say, do. Which choice Dean would make.

The phone rang again. This time, Castiel ignored it in favour of lifting Dean’s t-shirt up and over his head. He went for another kiss when Dean let out a yawn. A yawn he soon echoed, muffling the movement against Dean’s chest.

“This curse is ending. I suggest we move from under the table.” Dean blinked sleepily at him then nodded. He stumbled to his feet, shirt clasped in his hand and held out his hand. Castiel took it, not to let Dean help him to his feet, but merely to feel Dean’s skin against him again.

 

Sam hung up his phone when Dean’s cell went to voicemail again. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“I hear you,” Gabriel said, eyeing the tangle of threads from the far side of the room. Sam was about to try hauling the photos off the wall when he had a sudden realisation.

“We need her spell book.” The simplicity of the solution took a moment to sink in.

Gabriel looked at him, wide eyed for an instant. Then he rolled his eyes, looking disgusted at himself. “Her spell book.”

Sam began the search over his side of the room, checking shelves then moving on to the desk when that proved in vain. There were papers all over the surface that he threw to the floor, not caring about age or antiquity or possible usefulness. No book lay buried beneath them though.

He was about to move on to the cabinet next to the desk when he realised something. The front of the desk was slightly deeper than the back of the desk. The wood looked thicker. Sam ran his palms across the top of the desk, and then around the sides. He was rewarded when the more sensitive pads of his fingers ran across a tiny catch hidden where the leg met the top. There was a soft thwack sound and a bit of the base dropped down. The spell book inside slid into his waiting hands.

Sam paged through the book, found the spell quickly – helped by the illustrations, for all he’d deny it – and paused. The book wasn’t written in a language he was familiar with. Or it might be. He couldn’t decide. The chicken scratch hand writing was awful. He tilted the book in the air before it was snatched from him by an impatient Gabriel.

Gabriel clicked his fingers in the air and the bowl in the middle of the threads cracked in half, the foul smelling liquid spilling onto the concrete floor. An electric feeling in the air that Sam hadn’t been aware of until just then vanished. Sam stood up straighter, aware of pressure relieving.

“Is that it?” Sam asked, mildly disappointed.

“We need to burn this stuff. All of it. Preferably the house too. Probably.” Gabriel looked frankly gleeful at the idea. Then his face fell a little. “I think one last curse got through, but it should fade naturally.”

Sam shrugged. After all Dean and Cas (and his poor eyes!) had been through, what was one more curse. “Nothing bad?”

“Nothing too bad,” Gabriel said, a gleam of mischief in his eyes again. “Now. Time for some arson. I always was a bit of a fire raiser.”

“Isn’t it a hell raiser?” Sam asked, before the idiocy of his question sunk in. He looked apologetically at Gabriel who clapped him on the shoulder and let out a short laugh. The former arch angel spun around and Sam smelled the stench of gas. Time to go.

 

Waking up curled up with a gorgeous man was nice. Particularly if you were shirtless and so was he and you were both pressed as close to each other as could be, arms completely around the other. The only problem – other than the fact you were both wearing pants – was that he had no idea who he was cuddled up against. He had no memory of the man waking in his arms, fluttering long dark eyelashes that made his glorious blue eyes stand out. His hands itched with the urge to smooth the ruffled dark hair.

He didn’t feel hungover. He didn’t think this guy was a casual hook up. Not from the way that they were practically trying to inhabit the other’s space. He didn’t think he was the type of person to do that on a first date. In fact, he had no idea what he would actually do on a first date. He had no idea at all. He not only did not know who the man looking confused in his arms was, but he also had no idea who he was.

Fuck.

“Who’re you?” The guy’s voice was nice, a little deep and gravelly, unexpected out of someone who looked so damn meek.

He wanted to raise a hand up and scratch at the back of his neck. Equally he didn’t want to move his hand from soft, smooth skin. “I don’t know. You?”

The man shook his head. He seemed similarly unwilling to move his hands. In fact, his hands were stroking a little, finger tips moving rhythmically. It was nice. It was more than nice. It was good.

“We should probably… move?” He didn’t want to ask it, not really. He was quite happy to stay here in the guy’s arms and maybe lose some more clothing and kiss his plush, soft looking lips.

As if reading his mind, the man let the tip of his tongue slip out and moisten his mouth. It was one of the most riveting sights he had ever seen. Of all the things he’d ever seen. Which basically boiled down to this warm, delectable body in his arms and his slender yet firm chest, the way his dress pants clung to his thighs. The way his ass felt when he slid his hands down to cup it and draw his opposite number even closer. The guy came eagerly, hitching his leg over to drawn him even nearer.

They were kissing. It felt familiar and safe, like they’d done this a million times before. And because he couldn’t remember any of those times, he enjoyed it for the first time. Warm and just the right side of wet. It got even better when the guy sucked his tongue into his mouth. The thought of that pressure around his cock was enough for him to let out a growl of his own.

He rolled them so he was on top, pressing the other man into the dingy carpet. He didn’t care, not when he was able to roll his hips into the answering erection the guy was now sporting. The hiss that Cas let out when he pressed harder, firmer, was enough to send a spike of electricity down Dean’s spine.

Dean paused. “Cas?”

There was a minute shift under him, as Cas seemed to think about pushing him away and hiding and pretending that they weren’t grinding against each other like teenagers. Then Cas’ long fingers curled around his shoulders and drew him firmly into a brief kiss. “Yes, Dean?”

Dean thought about what he should say carefully. His first instinct was to check his ass for a tail or something, but he felt like himself for the first time in forty eight hours. Then he realised that part of that was no longer feeling like he’d driven across four Midwest states without a break. He wasn’t tired any more. He guessed Sam had pulled through after all. Not that it was any surprise. His brother was the other best hunter he knew, after all.

As if sensing his awareness, the phone rang once more. Dean stretched up an arm, snagging the bouncing cell from the low table. Castiel’s hands were sliding around the width of his shoulders, pulling him close again. Dean pressed the receive button automatically, while Cas’ lips found a sensitive spot on his neck. A whole series of sensitive spots, to be fair.

“Yeah?” Dean spoke hurriedly.

The relief in Sam’s voice was clear. “You’re all right? Right?”

“Yeah, Sammy. You cured us both.” There was another voice on the end of the call, indistinct. Then there was the sound of sirens in the background.

“We need to go, now really. Just don’t leave the motel. There might still be side effects.” Cas moved his attention to the other side of Dean’s neck, forcing him to juggle the phone to his other ear.

Dean was distracted when he answered. “Yeah. Not planning to.” He let out a soft hiss when Cas bit down gently, teeth scraping in a way that sent a shiver right to Dean’s really interested cock. “Take your time.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, apart from the sirens getting louder as they got nearer wherever Sam was. Fire engines, Dean reckoned. Then Sam spoke again, voice a little higher than before. “Is Castiel okay?”

“Sure,” Dean said, shifting to relieve the pressure in his jeans. He really needed to open his fly before he burst a hole in the denim. Cas seemed to read his mind, a hand worming between them to pop his button. The zipper sounded loud in the quiet room.

There was a strangled sound from Sam’s end of the conversation, and a familiar mocking laugh. “Just- Not in my bed, okay.” Sam hung up.

Dean used his free mouth to kiss Castiel again, letting the phone drop to his side. Cas’ hand was working its way into his boxers now and Dean was quite enjoying the sensation of warm palm on his cock. Castiel let out a growl, something Dean swallowed in his kiss.

“Bed,” Cas said, tearing his mouth away. “I want you spread out on the bed.” He followed up the order with a bruising kiss, staking an unmistakable claim on Dean’s mouth, Dean’s skin, Dean’s self.

Dean was more than happy to go along with this, letting his jeans slither to his feet and kicking them off before sprawling back on the nearest bed. It was only when Cas leaned over him, chests brushing, hands tangling, that Dean realised it was Sam’s bed after all.

Sam would probably prefer to get his own room for now any way.


End file.
